


Touch and Go

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Bad Cooking, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Love, Caretaking, Coughing, Denial, Dizziness, Embarrassment, Fever, Headaches & Migraines, Help, Hiding Medical Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Jerry Being A Jerk, Nausea, Papyrus is now the poster child for cough syrup, Pre-Canon, Sans is a good brother, Sick Papyrus (Undertale), Sickfic, What else is new?, Whump, excuses, falling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:33:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28140210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: Today is just like any other day. Papyrus intends to go about his business as usual—never mind his strange fatigue, or his terrible headache, or his voice giving out when he coughs. He'll deny anything is wrong until he can't anymore.
Relationships: Papyrus & Sans (Undertale)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 107





	Touch and Go

Papyrus awoke feeling strangely…slow-motion. His eye sockets felt gluey as they pried open, bones sluggish as he shifted with a raspy sigh. The first big stretch was a relief, untangling his legs from the blankets and cracking a long row of joints, but the next step was to muster himself and leap up for the day.

Which he did not do, to his own groggy surprise. Within seconds of waking up, his brilliant mind ought to be brimming with notions of chores, puzzles, friendship-making conversation topics. Due to all of this mental activity, he had never gotten much sleep; he was used to catching only fitful snatches of it, but he must have caught a few… _fewer_ last night. Should that bother him?

His bed was so welcoming, so warm—warm enough that his magic was slightly sticky, in fact, radiating under the covers. It held a pleading invitation: snuggle down, stay cozy for just a little while longer.

The fleeting time he spent to consider it would have to suffice. It was sure to be a beautiful day outside and the great Papyrus was not one to waste it! No more wallowing about! Thus decided, he flung the blankets back, sparing just a second to give his bedframe a fond pat as thanks for its offer of comfort and support.

His legs creaked as he rose, still resistant, so he stretched again, popping his ankles and toes for good measure before shoving them into his boots. He would need to put a little more backbone into his morning run. Only because Sans wasn’t there to see, he chuckled at the thought, swallowing a dry tickle that surfaced with it.

 _Gloves, firmly tugged! Scarf, expertly wrapped!_ (It was oddly chilly in here. Not something Papyrus was prone to notice, yet he noticed today.) His battle body was heavy on his shoulders and spine, heavy with the weight of responsibility. He had to be ready for anything.

The household chores were simple enough, though Papyrus could feel those minutes he’d spent lollygagging now pressing at his back. Today of all days, when a human finally arrived and he found glory and honor in their capture, he couldn’t afford to be late! If he only started one load of laundry and skimped _ever_ so slightly on brushing crumbs from Sans’ side of the couch, no one would notice.

He had no lungs to be out of breath as he set up the pot for breakfast. The illusion of his gasping was probably just nervous energy from his reserves to keep him alert. While useful for a potential battle later, it did prove distracting. The steam fogging his battle body made him fidget, abruptly aware of the damp heat and the ill-fit places it pinched.

Patrol would offer him plenty of time in the nice, cool weather, he reminded himself patiently. And perhaps if all went well, King Asgore would soon award him a splendorous suit of armor like Undyne’s.

The spaghetti hissed and spat irritably, breaking him out of his thoughts. As he hurriedly stirred, he found himself coming to a sinking realization. These noodles didn’t…sit right, somehow. They didn’t create that pleasant curl of satisfaction in his nonexistent stomach. Was it right to say that he felt _not hungry_ at the sight of them?

Well, it was only because the standards he set for his breakfast were so high! He could make an even better batch later. For now, he could safely assume Sans, compliant as he was, would eat this anyway. It was about time he got up.

“Broth—!” Papyrus began, startled as a few sharp coughs broke him off. With a slight wince he cleared his tight throat and turned down the stovetop. The steam must have grown too thick. “Brother! Rise and shine, you lazybones! I, Papyrus, have concocted a delicious breakfast as a great start to your day! I won’t see you missing out!”

As much as he loved the sound of his own voice, its reverb stirred an unfamiliar song in his head—a plodding set of drums that tromped just behind his eye sockets. He didn’t care much for the beat, but he could rationalize that it was better than Sans’ trombone.

The song continued its pace as he rolled his brother out of bed and spooned up a plateful for him. Because it was more polite to dine in company, he relented and took a bite or two himself.

It was…an experience! he decided, his smile wrenching. One he might have lived his life bereft of, if he hadn’t taken a brave step to try new things! Sans was less adventurous, sucking a single noodle through his teeth.

“Wow, Pap. That’s really something,” he admitted, and for once Papyrus could see that Sans was doing him a kindness by saying so little.

It was something. A pulpy, slimy something that seemed to get tangled up in Papyrus’ mouth the more he chewed. To the rhythm of the drums his jaw twinged for mercy, but nothing bested Papyrus, certainly not something of his own creation.

“Well,” he mustered as he finally got it down, gripping the edge of the table to help himself to his feet. “A sampler is more than enough for me to savor this unique taste. Humans wait for no scheduled meals. I need to get an early start.”

One of the noodles must have tickled the right bone; he muffled another cough against his glove, trying to dislodge the new little ball of pressure sitting behind his breastbone.

Surprisingly Sans perked up at the noise. “You okay?”

“Nyeheh. I’m more than ‘okay’; you of all people know that I am great.” It was a common response; even if he didn't give it his usual gusto, the familiarity would ease his brother’s mind.

Idly twirling his fork around his plate, Sans watched Papyrus shove the pot of leftovers into the fridge with the rest. He didn’t inquire again, which must mean he was properly reassured. There was no reason to fear in the first place. Papyrus would be great regardless of any challenges!

The frigid air seeping from the refrigerator felt lovely, even if it made him shudder. He lingered there, letting it wash over his sore joints until he recalled: _Creaky_. Exercise to shake it off.

“Finish your plate, Sans,” he urged distractedly, rubbing down his stiff forearms as he left. ( _How_ Sans finished the plate—perhaps with the assistance of the sink disposal—he left intentionally vague.)

The jog through town took longer than Papyrus cared to admit. He was pacing himself. It had nothing to do with the battle body slamming against his collarbone or the drumbeat matching his every step, and it _certainly_ had nothing to do with an almighty slipping and crashing as snow shifted to ice underneath him.

A singular wave of pain had rippled through his body, paralyzing him where he lay sprawled on his back. Had he landed somewhere more discreet, he would have been perfectly content to stay there until the throbbing subsided. It was only the snickering of the nearby teenagers that urged him frantically back to his feet.

“It was deliberate!” he blustered, voice cracking. “It was…” He might have come up with some cover story about _wanting_ to see them laugh, using a pratfall as lowbrow humor to cheer them, but without any warning the snowflakes were dotted with dizzying grays and blacks. Swaying, he trailed off and focused instead on regaining his posture.

“You alright, dear? That looked like quite a tumble!” the shopkeeper remarked as she passed.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine!” he stammered, so _loud_ , teeth clacking in some attempt at a grin. “Nothing brings the great Papyrus down for long! A-As for my tumbling, I must give it 110% of my effort, as I give everything else!”

With that he soldiered on, slush making itself at home in his boots. It wasn’t miserable, just uncomfortable enough. He wasn’t used to temperature having such an effect on him; skeletons weren’t meant to notice it. How could his magic be buzzing with the chill when his ribs and spine felt so trapped and clammy in his chest plate? Just as quickly as the thought occurred to take it off, it was smacked away. _Ridiculous_. He was on the job! He couldn’t be seen as anything less than professional!

That fall had disoriented him. He shot down the muffled voice of Sans in the back of his head giving rise to a pun about being “rattled.” It was far overused but it would have been a good descriptor nonetheless. His footing wobbled now with the unsteady rise and fall of the snowdrifts around him, but he didn’t let it stop him. By the time he reached his puzzle, his equilibrium had settled to a low seesawing.

Gaze sweeping the work ahead of him, he let out a low, hoarse breath. Perhaps with peace and quiet to address his passion project, he could settle his jittery nerves.

“Ohhh, it’s you. Took you long enough to get here and help me!”

 _Ah. Jerry_.

“I have, like, no idea how this puzzle works,” the lumpy monster complained before Papyrus could even think of a greeting. “I don’t have fifty hands! What, are you supposed to bring fifty more people along to activate all those switches at once? As if!”

The wormy gesticulating of his arms was already reminding Papyrus of that bad mouthful at breakfast. Swallowing a sour essence, he decided to take Jerry’s words as backhanded praise and hiked his wan smile up a little. “Yes, it is quite a conundrum, isn’t it? A human will surely be flummoxed by my ingenuity.”

“I don’t care about that! It’s totally in the way.”

“Yes, that…that hasn’t escaped my notice either. That is the _intention_ : to ensure a human may go no further so I, the great Papyrus, can capt—”

“Psh, why even bother, though? A human’s probably never gonna fall down here anyway; basically all your loser puzzles are doing is making life harder for the rest of us! I’m just trying to get from point A to point B. The wi-fi’s better over there! If you were actually good at these things, you’d pass around, like, solution guides for monsters or set up some kind of _invisible_ trap so it wouldn’t be such an eyesore…”

Never one to turn down feedback, Papyrus nodded along, trying to make mental notes of his critique, but as the comments went on and on, Jerry’s grating voice turned the drumbeat in his skull into a full marching band.

“I shall take stock of such things the moment I get the chance!” he spoke out over the din at last, eye sockets twitching in the effort not to grimace. “You said before that you required my aid?”

“Well, duh! You built the thing, didn’t you? Solve it for me so I can get by!”

Papyrus didn’t overlook how the other Snowdin residents reacted to Jerry’s presence—negatively, by all measures. Even Sans did more than a fair share of muttering and eye-rolling at Jerry’s antics, but Papyrus was a gracious and tolerant monster. More than that, he felt a sort of kinship with him. Being an outcast was a lonely affair and Papyrus was certain that he and Jerry both had unseen potential that recognition, kindness and friendship could reveal in time.

That being said, Papyrus was distinctly not at peak friendship ability today.

“You know how to solve your own puzzle, don’t you?” Jerry sneered.

“Obviously! As you said yourself, I am the mastermind behind it!” he shot back with just a flash of indignation. “Come, come, witness the mystifying genius that I’ve laid befo—” He coughed. “Before—” He coughed again, twice, thrice. As that one caught, it wrenched the next out before its time, which triggered the one after that. Before he quite realized what was happening, he was almost doubled over, hacking into his gloves. Jerry, for his part, recoiled in disgust.

“Eww, dude! Wash your hands!” he spat hypocritically, scurrying back the way he had come.

For the first time Papyrus wished that he _was_ a monsterkind equipped with lungs. If he had been, perhaps he could have made better use of the broken wheezes he snatched. Drawing too much air too soon only scratched at his throat and he gagged again. It was a relentless loop of gasping, then gagging, and his eye sockets were on fire. Come to think of it, every bone in his body was burning.

“Bro?”

“S—” he croaked. He wasn’t sure if he stumbled toward or away from Sans’ voice; the gray and black snowflakes had returned, blotting out his vision.

Perhaps he was already falling and hadn’t noticed or Sans was taking preventative measures, but a blue tug on his soul caught fast and helped him down to the ground without another rough impact. For that he was grateful. Next nimble fingers were on the seams of his battle body, collapsing it away from his shoulders, but even that relief didn’t help him settle the fit.

“S’s—!”

“Shh, shh, shh. Don’t try to talk,” Sans ordered, torn between patting or rubbing circles into his back. “Geez, you’re burning up. In through the septum…In, in…And hold it, as long as you can. Cover your mouth if that helps you keep that breath, okay? And…out. Let it out slow.”

Papyrus’ shoulders lurched violently as he struggled to choke back the next cough laced into his exhale. In a blurry panic he shook his head, water stinging his eyes.

“I know, Pap, I know. Slowly. In…and hold. Long as you can. The cough’ll calm down as soon as you do. Freaking out makes it worse. In…Hold it.” His hand went still against Papyrus’ spine, bracing him as he trembled. “I’ve gotcha.”

It would be comforting if it weren’t so humiliating! Wild thoughts scattered through his thundering skull. What if other monsters came along and saw him like this, unable to wrest back control? What if the teenagers laughed? What if he just couldn’t make it _stop?_

Forget the humiliation. Sans’ palm _was_ comforting. It stayed right there with him as he dragged in a real breath and strangled it into submission. His soul was racing.

“…And out,” his brother coaxed. He obeyed, slowly, slowly, like a balloon deflating from a tiny pinprick. It took three more attempts, almost four, before the raging fire in his ribs surrendered, dying down into bitter crackling.

Blinking stars from his vision, Papyrus sat in an exhausted, shivering haze. Sans was staring at him expectantly, perhaps wondering if he needed to put any more effort into this.

“You’ve done enough. I’m okay now,” Papyrus wanted to say, but only the faintest trickle of noise petered out.

Furthermore, if he had to be honest…he wasn’t okay.

About time he surrendered too.

He slumped, tiredly hoping, and Sans blessedly obliged, shuffling sideways to support Papyrus’ head against his shoulder. His jacket smelled less than terrific, but the fluff and padding were nice against his flushed cheekbone. The cool fingers scratching gently at the back of his neck helped too, soothing its whiplashed sensation.

“I’ve gotcha,” Sans repeated, softer.

He was in capable hands.

**Author's Note:**

> Literally all of this stemmed from the mental image of Sans turning Pap blue to help him sit down before he fell. It's amazing what little plot bunnies can do, huh? XD


End file.
